Holmes vs Watson: a sequel to 'The Empty House'
by Carissa the Sita
Summary: Or, The Continued Saga of the Waxen Bust of Sherlock Holmes, or How John Watson Tricked Sherlock Holmes (One-shot, Victorian)


_It had been my intentions to write this story up myself, but Holmes has insisted that I allow him the "pleasure," he termed it, of detailing this not-so-sordid mystery._

_"For," he said, "I have not been blind to your modesty, Watson, and since this particular tale pits my mind against yours, it would be more glorifying to me if I were to elaborate on your merits first, for otherwise it would seem as though I had undertaken a task unworthy of my talents."_

_Modesty, of course, is not a virtue with which Holmes could ever be accused of. This being said, I turn the narrative over to my dear friend, the great detective Sherlock Holmes._

* * *

Doctor John H. Watson is an extraordinary man. He can, at times, be a bit unobservant, but over the years I have learned that his apparent ignorance of blaring facts is less a lack of skill, but the presence of something which I fear I lack; that something being courtesy. Although I can conduct myself in a manner worthy of the highest circles of London company, I usually do not; preferring instead to prick and pry into every corner of a man's being. Dr. Watson, however, does not pry. If he sees that something is bothering someone, then he will observe and see if he can assist them, but on purely personal matters, he resists the temptation to discover every scandalous detail of the lives of others... a temptation I have no ability to escape from, it appears. So it is that Watson does not judge people by their pasts, and gives all a chance to prove themselves to him... if this were not so, I doubt he should ever have become friends with me.

Now that you know Watson, I must introduce myself to you through my own eyes. I have made it my business to discover the darkest secrets of humanity and expose them to Justice, that great entity without which we would be quite animals. In doing so, I have studied many things, and I have been many places... not all of which would I be proud to mention. Seeing these depths of darkness, I have lost a good deal of my respect for mankind, and was, in all honesty, at the brink of making some very bad decisions when Watson came along and taught me that, truly, there is a Purpose to life, and to suffering, and that is what saved me from becoming myself a criminal (or dead).

Now, on to the story proper. As you know, several years ago, I fought and destroyed Professor James Moriarty, the head of a criminal empire larger than London itself, in a final encounter in Switzerland above the Reichenbach Falls. In truth, it was due only to Providence that I survived at all, and it was necessary for some time that Watson believed me dead... a fact for which I am heartily sorry. It took me a bit over two years to destroy the rest of Moriarty's empire, ending in a duel of wits with Sebastian Moran, and a wax replica of myself... which is where our story starts.

It was not lost on me, that Watson was extremely impressed with the figure that Moran had shot at, and indeed, while we still crouched in the darkness of the empty house, and idea was already forming. I had never forgotten the trick that Watson had played on me many years before, some months after we had taken lodgings in Baker Street. It was, you see, a very clever prank; for Watson is a very clever man.

It happened one spring morning, to be bright and sunny; unusual for London. The weather must have given Watson some strange fever, for he suggested to me that I go out with him to the country and have luncheon.

"That is out of the question," I assured him, as I was deep in the midst of solving a mystery. "Perhaps another day."

"Holmes, there is unlikely to be such a gorgeous day for some time, and there is no guarantee that you'll be any more available then than now," Watson argued.

"Watson, I am busy, I am afraid. You should go without me. Take Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure she'd be delighted."

"Mrs. Hudson has already declined, in favor of cleaning out her cellar."

"Hmmm..." I mumbled back.

"Holmes..."

"It cannot be Mr. Drake, I know it..."

"Holmes..."

"And yet I am missing something... blast those bumbling police and their inconsiderate trampling of evidences..."

"Holmes..." Watson's tone was more warning this time. I glanced up at him.

"Surely, Watson, you can see that I would be no company at all to-day."

"Very well, Holmes, but I'm sure you're going to regret not going," Watson said, sounding fairly cheerful as he grabbed his coat. "I'll just ask Inspector Lestrade if he cares to join me."

"Hmm."

"Good-bye, Holmes. I shall see you later this afternoon."

"Hmm... it has to be Hodges."

"Holmes... I said good-bye."

"Hmm... Whatbye, Goodson."

"Whatever, Holmes."

It was silent when Watson had left, and soon my thoughts had drifted to spring days when Mycroft and I were children... specifically a certain instance involving a dare from my brother and a neighbour's apple orchard... when suddenly I realized that I had, indeed, missed the most obvious of clues. I jumped up, ran downstairs and grabbed a coat and hat as I ran out the door (although it transpired to be Mrs. Hudson's coat and Watson's Sunday hat, I must admit) and down to the Yard to tell Lestrade that it was Mr. Mark West, and not Mr. Adam Drake.

When I arrived at Scotland Yard, carrying Mrs. Hudson's coat and Watson's hat, Lestrade was on his way out. "Mr. Holmes, I see you've already heard."

"Heard what? It wasn't Drake, it was West."

"Then you haven't heard?" Lestrade's features softened slightly, and he hesitated.

"What are you talking about, Inspector?" I asked coldly.

"Holmes, Watson has been-"

"Where!? Where is he?"

"He..." Lestrade trailed off, placing his hand tightly over his face for a few moments until he'd collected himself. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of an accident..."

"_Where_?" I demanded, as my heart leaped into my throat.

"The morgue."

I felt very light-headed then, and Lestrade quickly reached for me. "Take me-take me to him, please." I choked out.

"Certainly, Holmes."

When we entered the darkened room, the smell of decay heavy in the air, I nearly fainted again, but someone else quickly grabbed my hand.

"What- Watson?!" I exclaimed, suddenly ecstatic. "But-how-I don't-"

Watson bit back a small smile. "Sorry, Holmes, to scare you. But I did tell you you'd regret not going with me, although this isn't quite what I'd meant at the time. There _was_ an accident, and unfortunately a man was killed. I accompanied the body here, and then requested that a telegram be sent to Lestrade as a joke to you; which I must admit, I never really expected you to fall for it."

"Watson... you... you... you _tricked_ me!" I said, astonished. He laughed, and Lestrade did as well.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I'll admit I'm just as surprised as you," Lestrade said, grinning. "I didn't think we could pull it off."

"Well..." I said, grudgingly. "Watson, the game is afoot."

Now, jumping forward some years, we return to the original tale I began. As I stated, the plan to use the wax bust had begun while we were still in the empty house, awaiting Moran. It was several weeks later that I implemented it, however, and Watson and I had moved back into the Baker Street residence.

"Holmes, I'm going down to the druggist's to get more tobacco. You need anything?" he asked.

"Hmm... not at the moment, Watson, no," I replied, not looking up from my book.

"Very well, Holmes. I shall be back before too much longer."

"Shall I ask Mrs. Hudson to make us dinner tonight, or shall we go out to eat?"

"Whatever you care to do, Holmes," Watson replied, before heading out.

The moment Watson had shut the door, I jumped up and pulled the repaired bust out of my bedroom wardrobe and dragged it to the living room. Taking off my own dressing gown, I quickly clothed the replica in it and set it down in my own chair. Bending its limbs carefully, I made it to hold the book I had been reading. "Don't lose my place, hmm?" I murmured, chuckling to myself. As an afterthought, I filled my pipe and lit it, pushing it into the thinly parted waxen lips.

"Now, to affix the timer mechanism!" I announced to no one in particular. "The moment that Watson steps foot inside the door, the timer will begin. I can stop it remotely from my room, when I hear that he has discovered my ruse." A few wires attached to a re-purposed pocket watch (once belonging to my brother, he had given it to me as a gift once for solving the mystery of his disappearing servant). More wires trailed inconspicuously along the wall to my bedroom, where I would wait and listen for Watson's recognition of the bust.

I had just finished arming the wires to cross when the door would open when I heard Watson's footsteps upon the stair. I dashed to my room as silently as I could, leaving the door open just a bit so I wouldn't crush the wires and so I could hear my friend.

Watson came in, put his package down and set aside his shoes. "Hello, Holmes." He said, but I didn't answer (which, I am sorry to say, isn't quite an unusual occurrence). I heard Watson sit down in his chair. "I say, Sherlock, you do look rather pale still. I can't imagine what you've been doing while you were gone, but all I can say is that I am glad you are back where I can keep an eye on you," Watson chuckled a bit, then struck a match and lit his pipe. "It seems to me that you're not reading that book at all. Oh, well, I suppose you'll tell me about the case later."

It was silent for several minutes after I heard Watson pick up the _Times_. "Say, Holmes, I noticed your brother sent you a telegram yesterday," Watson said, casually. "Any comments on that?"

_Oh, dear,_ I thought. _Now he's going to end up thinking Mycroft and I are on ill terms. _Briefly, I considered revealing my elaborate prank, but the timer had already reached seven minutes, and in three more I would win my bet with my brother. I'd already won my bet with Mrs. Hudson, who was certain the colour of the wax would cause Watson more alarm (I'd dimmed the gas to help hide the pale effigy) before three minutes were up.

"Well, believe me when I say I understand about brothers, Holmes," Watson said, chuckling slightly. "Sometimes they can be irritating miscreants, you know, while at other times you can trust them to have your back."

I smiled to myself behind the door, thinking just how true that was.

"Holmes..." there was a creak from Watson's chair. I glanced at the clock, and realized I was going to lose the bet with Mycroft. _Oh, well. He always was the smartest of us two._

"Holmes! Why, you, you - this is an impostor!" Watson said, standing up suddenly. I laughed aloud, and pulled the wire to stop the timer before coming out of my room.

"Sorry, Watson, it was too tempting," I apologized. "Besides, afterwards it seemed an awful lot of trouble for just one case." I said, poking the dummy.

"Yes, I suppose it was... some doctor I am!" he sounded quite chagrined. "To think I was talking to a lump of wax!"

"Hmm... it is a very _good_ lump of wax."

"Still, it hasn't any breath at all, and I truly ought to have better seen its terrible colour! Why, it's practically translucent!"

"The gas lighting was arranged just so to further complete my illusion."

"Really, Holmes, if you ever tire of detective work, you would be well-received in the theatrical community."

"I shall be dealing with wax when I retire, Watson, but also honey and stingers."

"You're really serious about that, Holmes?"

"Certainly! Why, _A__pis mellifera_, or the common honey bee, is one of the most interesting of insects. The processes by which they create the honey, how they communicate with each other, all are mysteries which I must, indeed, solve one day!" I declared, reclaiming my dressing gown from the wax figurine which had stolen it.

"Well, Holmes, I hope you have the opportunity to do so, then, and that your researches are well-rewarded."


End file.
